


Welcome to the Team

by YamiTami



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, New Teammate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiTami/pseuds/YamiTami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Engineer liked the look of the man, tall and broad enough in the shoulder that lugging the heavy medipack wouldn’t be too much of a problem, and the new medic’s handshake was firm. Then the new medic opened his mouth.</p><p>What he said was perfectly civil. It was even polite. Just a simple greeting and a stated assumption that Engineer was an Engineer and a question of which direction the base was in. Simple words with the Ws turning into Vs and a lot of other letters blurring into Zs.</p><p>“Aw, confound it,” Engineer said without really meaning to. The new Medic looked puzzled, but Engineer smoothly moved the conversation over to the layout of the fort while silently telling himself that maybe it would be fine.</p><p>The second to meet the new Medic was Sniper. He was... less diplomatic.</p><p>“Bloody hell, you’re not going to last a day.”</p><p>---------</p><p>Medic's first impression on the team the first day he arrives at the base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Team

The first member of the team to meet the new medic—or Medic, with a capital ‘M’ as they weren’t allowed to share their names—was Engineer with a capital ‘E’. With his Southern drawl and easy manner he was one of the few diplomatic mercenaries on hand. Mostly. Aside from the time he was a hair’s breadth from strangling the new Spy before they’d even gotten back to base, but it was generally agreed that the incident didn’t count. In any case, the easygoing and opened minded Texan was the one who met Medic at the platform.

Engineer liked the look of the man, tall and broad enough in the shoulder that lugging the heavy medipack wouldn’t be too much of a problem, and the new medic’s handshake was firm. Then the new medic opened his mouth.

What he said was perfectly civil. It was even polite. Just a simple greeting and a stated assumption that Engineer was an Engineer and a question of which direction the base was in. Simple words with the Ws turning into Vs and a lot of other letters blurring into Zs.

“Aw, confound it,” Engineer said without really meaning to. The new Medic looked puzzled, but Engineer smoothly moved the conversation over to the layout of the fort while silently telling himself that maybe it would be fine.

The second to meet the new Medic was Sniper. Capital ‘S’. He was... less diplomatic.

“Bloody hell, you’re not going to last a day.”

Medic took some offense to that—he had at least a decade or two on the parts of the team he’d met so far but he could still hold his own. Before Medic could bite off a retort Sniper was already heading off towards the waiting supply truck. Engineer glanced in the direction of the cab, glanced at Medic, and then announced that they should ride in the back to make sure nothing important fell over. The excuse was so thin it barely had a micron to its name but Medic didn’t argue the point. Any other place and he’d have words with that Sniper, but out there in the dust he wasn’t sure if he could afford to make enemies with the men wearing the same color as he was. At least, not until he’d gotten established and had enough allies that a couple enemies wouldn’t tip the scale right into a grave. 

They were meant to arrive around the same time as the sun so that the welcoming committee would be ready to fight when the horn blew. Medic would observe until noon at which point his status would go from non-combative to combative and he’d be allowed to join the fray. However, halfway back to base the truck’s engine sputtered and then ground to a stop. Medic was often annoyed by the limits of the English language compared to his own native tongue—absolutely no space for the finesse of finer meaning—but he had to admit that Engineer’s flowery tirade came close to the expressiveness of German. Sniper, meanwhile, expressed his ire through a whole rainbow of silent glares before finally breaking down into all manner of simple foulness on a loop.

“Why is he shouting ‘traitor’?” Medic asked idly.

Engineer looked up from the machine he was still so eloquently grumbling at and wiped the sweat off his brow, leaving a long greasy streak across his forehead. “Mind, I couldn’t rightfully say that this was sabotage. Looks like natural wear and tear mixed with a generous dollop of bad luck... but I checked this engine over yesterday.”

Medic looked at the angry Australian over the top of his glasses. “He believes that a member of our—“

An almighty clang reverberated across the landscape. Medic startled, but only slightly. Sniper just kept on raving without missing a beat.

Engineer waggled a wrench at the team’s newcomer, but there was no malice behind the gesture. “That’s a road you don’t need to be going down, partner. He’s referring to the other team. Sabotage of non-combative machinery is strictly forbidden under our unique rules of combat.”

“Ah,” Medic replied. He’d read over the rules, of course, but he’d only skimmed the section regarding that kind of equipment. His domain was the machine made of blood and bone and flesh, not the ones made of steel and oil. Medic wanted to make a good first impression and winced at the thought of coming across as less than well read, but Engineer didn’t seem concerned.

By the time the truck was running again the fighting had been going on for a while. There was a solid effort to race across the desert landscape but a vehicle that size can only go so fast without things becoming dangerous, and Medic was mildly surprised to find that Sniper was a very safe driver. In any case, by the time they pulled up to the base it was already nearly noon. Sniper and Engineer were off and running almost before the truck stopped. Medic, still just barely inside the window of relative pre-noon safety, took off at a dead run for the base and for the infirmary that was now his. Engineer had given him good directions, at least, and he didn’t get lost on the way in. The medipack and other tools of his trade were laid out on a gurney near the door and he rushed through diagnostic checks all while muttering less than polite things under his breath in _very_ expressive German. He was meant to have time to look at the layout and to meet the other members of the team before taking to the field. Now he was running blind. Traitorous enemies indeed.

He had just finished the startup procedures for the medipack and was about to strap it to his back when the infirmary door slammed open. Medic grabbed the first sharp thing his eyes landed on and spun around to face the intruder. He was already irritated at the delay in getting there, he was in no mood for more trickery, and he didn’t care if it was noon yet or not _whoever just barged into his infirmary was not long for this life._

As he swung the saw down higher thinking chimed in over fight or flight for the briefest of moments and wondered if that was his team’s color. The hesitation gave the ‘intruder’ the fraction of a second needed to get his own weapon up between the incoming saw and his face.

“Whoa, _woah_ , _**woah!**_ ” the startled mercenary shouted. He took a moment to look at the saw cross-eyed, still frozen in midair where it came in contact with the barrel of what seemed to be a large sawed off shotgun. Then he shoved against Medic and jumped back. “ _The fuck is wrong with you?_ ”

So much for making a good first impression, Medic thought with an embarrassed sigh. He snapped from apologetic to irritated at the next words out of his yet to be identified teammate’s mouth.

“Damn, are we really that hard up for suckers? What are you, like eighty?”

Medic bristled, pulled himself to his fullest height, and sneered. “What are you, twelve?”

If the furious look on the boy’s face was any indication they might have settled into quite the pissing match, but then he suddenly jerked to the side. A half-second of confusion later Medic realized that the boy was instinctively trying to get away from the half-headset he was wearing.

“Stop screaming in my ear, you fucking kangaroo!” he yelled into the mic, both confirming Medic’s diagnosis and identifying the source of his auditory pain. “I’m wasting good batting time giving this geezer the thing.”

‘The thing’ was thrown in the direction of Medic’s chest. He caught it and it turned out to be a small receiver and corded earpiece. The boy elected to open a window and leap out of it screaming bloody murder. Medic felt like banging his head against the wall.

He turned the receiver on and then stuffed it down the front of his coat—there was no time for anything else—and jammed the earpiece in.

“...get a bloody move on!” Sniper, or someone else with gravel and Outback in his voice, barked into the staticky feed. “Doctor, you hearing any of this? Knowing our luck that idiot picked up a broken set on top of grabbing one without a mic. If this is getting through you just met our _irritating gnat of a bloody Scout_ —”

Medic could have sworn that he heard a faint, incensed ‘hey’ from somewhere outside the open window.

“—who better get his rabbit ass to the west side of the field—Scout I said _move your spastic ass!_ Truckie needs cover putting up sentries so if you would please do your job then that would be lovely. Spy, enemy firecracker is laying down some tricky stickies. Stupid blighter doesn’t think I can see him. Corridor off near the old water tank; find another way around. Demo, keep at it, you’re clear. The kid is almost there, Engineer, hang on and he’ll give you some cover while you put up those tin cans. Scout, divert yourself to your three o’clock. There you go. Doctor, if you’re listening?”

He finished tightening all the straps and harnesses holding the medipack on his back. As an afterthought he picked up the bone saw he’d wielded at the young Scout. While it was a medic’s job to heal his teammates, this particular Medic didn’t much like the idea of going out there unarmed. Not when the enemy team was as treacherous as this one. 

“Doctor, if you’re there, we’re going to make a push with Heavy at the lead and he’s going to need the medstream on him. _Oi_ , anyone got eyes on Heavy? Tall guy, big gun, can’t miss him. Thanks, mate. Doc, when you leave the infirmary take a left and take the stair down, straight through the corridor and you’ll hit Engineer’s garage. Watch out for the enemy as there’s piles of scrap by necessity in there. Door will be open. Veer right and follow the sound of insane laughing. The deeper pitched variety, if you please if it’s got a screechy cadence to it then, uh, avoid it. If the rabbit got a broken set can anyone— _shut up, Scout_ —can anyone go take the new Medic for a tour? Thank you, Spook. Try not to get distracted by his tie or whatever else gets your knickers in a twist. Bugger you too, bloody fruit merchant.”

Medic barely spared a glance at the various machine parts lying around the room before bolting out into the sunlight. He figured that if there was anyone hiding in there it would be more dangerous to be a slower target. On top of that a female voice was announcing that he was cleared to help his team. It went without saying that this also meant he was cleared to be shot at, but she felt it was necessary to say it anyway.

“He might not need you, Spy. Either that or he’s a homing pigeon. Hey, Doctor, while you’re paused there could you wave a hand if you—all right, so you can hear—oh bloody hell, enemies are incoming. Doc! There’s an alley on your seven and an open stretch after. You’ll be exposed but that’s better than cornered, run like your life depends on it because, well, it does.”

As he crossed the alley’s mouth Medic heard a shout behind him but he ignored it in favor of putting all he had into a mad sprint. He was in remarkably good shape and long legs did come in handy, but then again the medipack weighed down on his shoulders and as loath as he was to admit it he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Gunfire sounded as he came out on the other side.

“Engineer, are those sentries—Scout, Truckie’s got it covered. Head center field to give Soldier some bleeding cover. Heavy, got the enemy scout coming up on you on your nine. I’ve lost eyes on Medic, can anyone—no, got him. Blimey, Doc, you’re not half slow, are you?”

In spite of the danger and the fact that he had only a vague idea as to where he was in relation to anyone, Medic grinned.

“Doc, head more to your left and—well there you go, follow the laugh.”

It was loud and deep and decidedly boisterous. Medic came around the corner and nearly collided with the man who could only be his team’s Heavy. Being as he wasn’t a short man by any standards Medic was not accustomed to looking up at anyone, but Heavy had at least half a head on him. A giant hand clapped Medic on the shoulder and he was roughly pushed around to Heavy’s other side. He managed to stay on his feet and found himself staring at the back of the taller man’s neck.

“The little man is still around so watch for him.”

“Ja, when are we making this push?”

The two men fell into a two second silence, one which lasted roughly a decade, during which Medic’s sole thought was _Russian_ and judging by Heavy’s tensed shoulders his sole thought was _German_. The Second War wasn’t that long ago to some of those who lived it. Medic was just about to ask if this was going to be a problem when Heavy looked over his shoulder, stared at the newcomer intently, then faced forward again with a determined air.

“We go when you are ready, Doctor.”

With a flick of a switch Medic nodded. “Lead the way... comrade.”

Heavy laughed, even louder than before, and just like that the tension was gone. As soon as the glowing stream touched him he marched out from the alcove with Medic following close behind. The enemy scout bolted, as did two others who saw the very large gun heading their way.

“Stay behind me, Doctor!” Heavy shouted between chuckles that almost qualified as seismic events. Medic was more than happy to let the behemoth absorb the lead being flung their way. With the medigun trained on him what few rounds hit home seemed to have no effect at all. Medic was itching to see more of the amazing device in action—were the bullets deflected or were they still lodged in the quickly healed flesh—but for the moment he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

“Bloody brilliant! Spook, you where you need to be? They’re distracted now so this would be an ideal moment to creep a little faster than honey on a cold day. Scout, you helping to cover Soldier? Good, good. Demo? Light it.”

The ground shook and the smell of chemicals and smoking ash filled the air. There was a building between Medic and Heavy’s corner of the battlefield and the location of the quickly rising column of smoke but even so Medic could feel the heat of it. A long whistle sounded in his ear.

“Now isn’t that a beaut? Demo, I think Soldier is ready for a grand charge. Lend him a hand if you would. Doc, you and Heavy keep pushing forward. Tell him we need that door to your one-thirty opened, if he’d be kind enough to knock.”

“Sniper asks that you open that door!” Medic shouted over the rattle of the minigun and the steady hum of the medigun. Not loud enough, it seemed, as Heavy took his finger off the trigger and glanced back. “Sniper is asking you ‘knock’ on that door over there.”

He inclined his head towards a wide door of corrugated metal, similar to the one that Medic had passed through on his way outside. Heavy nodded and turned back around, the barrels already spinning faster and faster.

“Right, then, Gremlin, you heading that way? Demo, got a sentry ahead of you. Truckie—“

There was a flash in the corner of Medic’s vision and he hastily yanked on the slipknot securing the bonesaw to his belt, bringing it up with his left hand while still trying to hold the medigun with his right. For the second time that day he collided with a scout, though this time not the one on his team. The boy had brought the bat down in a deadly swing which glanced off Medic’s shoulder as he ducked around. It was awkward, wielding his toothed blade with his non-dominant hand, but he still managed to take a bite out of the enemy scout’s hip. Heavy, cursing in the language of snow and vodka, swiftly and carefully set his gun on the ground and drew the shotgun holstered on his back. Not nearly as powerful as the minigun but a hell of a lot easier to aim on the fly when an enemy soldier and pyro were bearing down on you. Medic was still preoccupied with the scout, who had recovered from the initial sting of his injury and was wasting time being angry in the soldier’s direction. Something about the ‘old man’ being tougher than he looked.

 _Well then,_ Medic thought as he tightened his grip on both the medigun and the bonesaw, _let’s see what the ‘old man’ can do, shall we?_

Medic lunged forward, slashing the saw at the scout’s abdomen. The boy expected it and dodged easily, but he wasn’t expecting the medigun swinging hard into his knee. That leg buckled and the scout fell into a kneel. Medic brought the bonesaw down and the scout brought his bat up to block it—unfortunately it was a wooden bat so the teeth caught on the grain and Medic couldn’t slide it down to the boy’s hand. The scout scrabbled for the sawed off shotgun on his back but taking one hand off the bat allowed Medic to shove down with the saw and hit the boy in the head with his own weapon. Not hard, probably barely enough to bruise, but it did put the scout even more off balance and he tipped onto his back. Medic wrenched the saw free of the bat and added another jagged line to the scout’s thigh. The ring of adrenaline in his hears subsided enough to hear Sniper again.

“ _Blimey_ , Doc. If he’s down then Heavy needs a hand.”

One more swipe to the calf and Medic allowed the scout to scramble up and take off back to his base in a limping run. Heavy was mainly preoccupied with the pyro who was just inside flamethrower range, leaving the soldier to take his time coming up on Heavy’s flank. The soldier had offered his back to Medic, probably thinking that the healer with grayed temples wasn’t much of a threat, and while that thought irritated Medic to no end he also knew a golden opportunity when he saw one. He sprinted the short distance like a gazelle and by the time the soldier recognized the sound of footsteps a saw was biting into his soldier. There were too many layers of heavy fabric between the blade and flesh to do serious damage, but it was more than enough to upset the aim of the rocket launcher. The projectile missed Heavy by a mile and the soldier whirled around to face Medic. A wicked hunting knife was produced and Medic made the split-second decision to set the medigun on the ground. That allowed him to transfer the bonesaw to his right hand and better parry the soldier’s incoming blow, but it also meant that he was anchored to the spot by the medigun’s hose. With his movements limited he couldn’t do anything aside from hold his own. Heavy was in the same boat, tethered to his minigun by the belt and the shotgun’s range was only enough to keep the pyro on the edge of the effective range of the flamethrower. It was going to come down to endurance, and that wasn’t a fight that Heavy and Medic were going to win. They’d done a lot of running and were at the enemy’s doorstep. All the pyro and soldier had to do was keep them busy until the scout made it back and brought reinforcements. 

Thankfully, what appeared to be a spiked ball came out of nowhere and landed at the pyro’s feet. The ball was shortly followed by an unintelligible scream.

Sniper was shouting in Medic’s ear, “Doctor! Put some distance between you and that helmet, mate!”

While the soldier was distracted by the new variable Medic grabbed the medigun off the ground and staggered back—the red blossoming on his left arm had nothing to do with Reliable Excavation and Demolition. Both the medigun and saw were in his right hand and he didn’t have time to juggle the saw back to his hurting left so instead he returned to Heavy’s side and fumbled the medigun back on. Heavy’s shirtsleeve was a tad singed and there were blisters forming on that arm.

“Lift the sleeve,” Medic barked. He was pleased when there was only a half-second’s hesitation and then Heavy complied. The glowing stream made quick work of the burn and separating the fabric from the flesh prevented the shirt from becoming part of the new skin.

Meanwhile, capsules the size of a clenched fist were bouncing towards the enemy soldier, who was making a hasty retreat as they exploded at his heels. The pyro soon joined him as Heavy had his minigun back in hand. With the enemy on the run Medic turned to get a look at the newcomer as said newcomer was waving what appeared to be a golf club at the retreating enemies.

“Aye, you better run you prancing pansies!”

Medic’s first thought was that he wouldn’t expect such a thick Scottish accent from a black man. His second thought was that a man with _one eye_ had been bouncing explosives around his teammate’s feet. Then the ally who could only be the Demoman came closer and Medic gave up. If Heavy’s lack of reaction to the reek of alcohol was any indication then a tall black drunk Scot with no depth perception was par for the course.

“Pleasure to meet you, laddie,” Demo said as he thrust out his hand. Medic looked down at his full right hand and injured left arm and then back up at his teammate. “Ah, never mind. How’s your first day, Doctor?”

“Medic is credit to team!” Heavy happily announced.

“That’s the stuff!” Demo laughed.

Sniper was talking to them again. Medic was getting better at filtering out that which was not directed at him. “Doc, Heavy, Demo. Hold that position and get ready to cover the intel on its way to its new home.”

Heavy and Demo jumped to their positions, Heavy in the center of the field and Demo off to the side. Medic clipped the bonesaw back to his belt and then took his stance behind Heavy. He saw Demo glance over and then nod approvingly. Medic squared his shoulders—yes, he was doing well. While they had to work as a team a certain degree of autonomy was necessary, which was probably why Sniper didn’t seem to have a line to Heavy or to Soldier. There was only so much that Sniper could keep an eye on from his perch, after all. Medic had been worried about how he’d fit with the team in this strange new environment but it seemed that he was well on his way to proving himself to all of them.

His musings were cut short as a streak of both team colors darted past them. It was Scout with the enemy intel strapped to his back, whooping and hollering all the way. Medic could have sworn that Spy was set to take the intel and was stunned by the amount of noise that his teammates seemed to make. Then there was little time for any thought aside from keeping track of the angry team bearing down on them and making a steady and victorious retreat back to their base.

As the door rattled down after the day’s fighting officially ended, Demo explained that the team had come up with a plan in the absence of their Sniper, Engineer, and brand new Medic. The Spy had briefed Sniper before heading to the enemy base and then Sniper was deliberately misleading as they strongly suspected that the enemy had figured out their frequency, which is why this was the first that Medic was hearing about it. Spy had taken the intel and when the enemy defenders had closed in on him he’d simply thrown it over the railing to the waiting Scout. Spy cloaked and slipped away while Scout ran like a bat out of hell and that was how they netted a win for the day.

Scout, for his part, was a constant stream of self-congratulations at his daring theft. Medic suppressed the urge to roll his eyes—given the boy’s age and clearly hyperactive demeanor he’d expect little else—but as they headed into the base proper Scout broke his self-directed praise for a moment.

“Heh, Doc, good work with that idiot ballbeater on the other team. You know, you’re not half bad. You know, for an old man.”

Medic decided to let that slide and count the interaction as a win. Once he was a little more established in the team the boy wouldn’t be getting away with comments like that.

At that moment, though, Medic was riding high on the victory and on his success on the field. He thought he’d do quite nicely with this team.

As they were heading to the common room they met another teammate in the corridors. Medic transferred his medigun to rest on his left hip so he could extend a friendly hand.

“You are Pyro?”

“Mrr mph rrr rm.”

Medic blinked. He expected the man to remove the gas mask so that communication would be a little easier, but no such move was made.

“Ah... you must have been protecting the base during the fight, ja? It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Pyro tilted his—her?—head to the side.

“... I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“Mph! Mrr rr phr.”

Pyro took Medic’s offered hand, shook it once, let go, and then continued along with a bouncy step. Medic thought it was very odd, but then again so was everyone at this base including himself, so he shrugged it off.

Then he turned around and saw the other three’s faces. Heavy was back against the wall, Scout was hugging the intel briefcase to his chest, and Demo wore a mad grin.

“You are a miracle worker, aren’t you Doc?” Demo said with no small amount of respect in his voice.

Medic was baffled.

Before he could ask anything else Engineer appeared and congratulated everyone on a job well done. He then sent the others down to secure the intel. He took one look at Medic’s arm and led him off towards the infirmary, ‘to get him settled in’.

Once they got in the door Medic was able to take a proper look at his infirmary. It was sparsely furnished but well equipped. There were four recovery cots, three gurneys (one of which seemed to be permanently repurposed as a table), and behind a few standing curtains there was a passable desk and operating table. There were cabinets with glass doors here and there in the recovery section as well as a dresser with sheets, towels, and patient’s scrubs. In the operating area there was a stainless steel shelf attached to a large set of sinks. The framework for a biohazard laundry bin was already assembled but was missing the bag. There wasn’t much in the cabinets or on the shelf, either. Medic turned his attention to the unpacked boxes scattered across the floor, cots, and desk.

Engineer followed his gaze. “You’ll be the first medic to grace the halls of this particular fort, and might I say we are darn delighted to have a man of the surgical persuasion in house. Between Sniper, Spy, and Heavy we’ve had the meatball style first aide down, but when a man is used to doing his sutures in a lice-infested trench or a half-star hotel room the result isn’t fast or neat or in any way pretty.”

Medic nodded and idly looked over the boxes sitting on his desk. He had a feeling that Heavy was the one who learned first aid in a trench. With behemoths like that on Russia’s side it was no wonder the Eastern Front gave the Third Reich such trouble. He couldn’t decide where he’d place his money on Sniper learning the trade, and of course the as of yet unmet Spy was a mystery. Medic was so lost in his musings that he forgot Engineer until the American sighed.

“Don’t think I’m not pleased that you’re turning out to be such a team player, but Medic? You can look after your own injuries sooner rather than later.”

The pain, which had receeded into a background whisper with all the battlefield high, returned in strength at being mentioned. Medic grimaced and lifted the flap of his cut coat and shirt to assess the damage. The laceration wasn’t terribly deep but it was long.

“I will need to suture this before using the medigun,” Medic said, more thinking aloud than talking to Engineer. “Luckily it is not my dominant hand.”

Engineer scratched the back of his head and looked sheepish. “I apologize. If things had gone to plan we would have been able to give you an overview of the other team’s habits—for example, their soldier’s proclivity for arterial spray—before you had to go and find out for yourself.”

Medic raised an eyebrow. If his brachial artery had been severed he would have bleed out inside of two minutes. “It would have been truly embarrassing to die on the first day.”

Engineer laughed at that. Medic mused that his team seemed to spend a lot of time laughing. He wasn’t yet sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing but he was leaning towards the former.

“Need any help getting yourself patched up?”

“Nein...” Medic paused and reconsidered his first instinct, “... however, I may require some assistance in removing the medipack.”

Medic unbuckled it from his back and Engineer caught it, setting it carefully on the operating table. After that Engineer stayed clear and let Medic do his thing, only springing to action when Medic couldn’t find a particular tool he needed. Other than that, Engineer kept back and leaned against the edge of the desk striking up friendly conversation. Medic had been taught certain things about the connection between the nature of a person’s speech and the nature of their intellect and he had spent a good portion of his life trying to unlearn those things. Still, in spite of himself he was surprised at the intelligent mind behind that slow easy drawl. They chatted about nothing, Tolstoy and Shakespeare, until Medic had quickly and efficiently stitched up his arm and then turned the medigun on it. Medic was glad that whatever misgivings Engineer had earlier in the day had disappeared. It had been a rocky start in his new post but Medic felt that he had proven himself and then some, and it seemed as though the team agreed.

With his arm healed Medic dug up a new shirt from a box full of uniforms and then the two of them headed down to the common room. It was coming up on suppertime and Medic was looking forward to both the meal and to meeting the rest of the team. There were only two more unknowns and Medic wanted to clear up the mystery one way or another. The day had been full of too many surprises as it was and he wanted to get these last two over with.

One of them met them at the door. Engineer bristled when he saw the man leaning against the doorjamb—there was just an instinctive hatred between engineers and spies—but he maintained some air of politeness.

“Spy, this is Medic. Medic, this here is our Spy.”

Medic dutifully held out a hand. Spy only raised an eyebrow. After a few seconds Medic dropped his arm and grit his teeth in irritation but he continued on anyway.

“Hello. I hear that you were an integral part in today’s victory.”

“Ah, so that is what the convict meant,” Spy responded as if he was talking to the air. At least his accent gave Medic an idea of what the problem was. The bad blood between the Russians and Germans was nothing compared to the feelings of the French.

However justified those feelings were—particularly since Spy seemed plenty old enough to have been Free French during the War—it had been a long day and Medic was tired and his shoulders and legs were sore as he wasn’t used to the field yet and he just did not have the energy to deal with it.

“Is this going to be a problem? The War was not so long ago—I know this—but on the field we are nothing but two bags of meats waiting to be blown apart. I would rather not increase the odds of that happening.”

Spy grinned at that. “I do not think we will have much trouble. In any case, we will not spend much time in the same part of the field.” He glanced behind him, and over his shoulder Medic could see the large room with various pieces of battered furniture and members of the team settling in for their evening meal. “Non, it is not I who would have trouble working with a Nazi.”

On the last word Spy slid into the common room smooth as silk. Medic lost a good six seconds to red mental static but then he was storming after Spy without making a conscious decision to do so. However, any biting words Medic might have had for Spy evaporated when the final member of the team made a very loud entrance.

“ _Nazi?_ Where!?” Came a deafening shout. Medic’s angry stride faltered as a man stormed in from the kitchen corner of the room. Square jaw, overlarge helmet, wielding a shovel. The flecks on the shovel might have been rust or blood, it was moving too fast for Medic to get a good look. “Any sorry goose-stepping son of a bitch Fritz daring to stick his head into _my_ base is going to quickly find it detached from his body!”

“Ah. Thank explains it,” Medic said to himself. Crazy American swinging a shovel. That is a good reason for the others to be worried upon hearing the accent Medic never could quite lose.

“Who’s this?” It seemed Medic’s muttering was enough to draw the attention of who could only be Soldier, and that name seemed to apply to more than his class as a mercenary. Medic long learned the bearing of the type of people who lived by bullets and blades. Spy was an agent, Sniper was a freelancer with military training, Heavy was a grunt, but Soldier... he was a _soldier_ and more than that, he was a true believer of the cause he was fighting for.

Soldier was still scrutinizing Medic. “Well don’t just stand around looking stupid. Identify yourself!”

“I am the new medic,” he replied distractedly. He was trying to think of exit strategies. Some of the others looked as though they were on the edge of jumping to Medic’s defense, but they did after all only meet him that day and were wary of stepping between a stranger, however useful, and the established and raging teammate. 

“Good, good,” Soldier said. Medic wondered if he had somehow missed the accent. “Spy! You said something about a Nazi?”

Spy didn’t say anything, but his eyes did flick over to Medic. In spite of the helmet which should by all rights be obscuring Soldier’s view he caught the motion and turned his attention back towards Medic.

“Where? Behind the new medic?”

Medic sighed and decided that he might as well get it over and done with. Soldier appeared to be a tad thick but he’d figure it out sooner or later. “I believe he was referring to me as I am the only German in the room.”

Soldier stood straight as a board and stared at the new mercenary, at least, it looked like that’s what he was doing. Then after a tense moment he turned back towards Spy.

“Crouton! What the hell is wrong with you?” Soldier bellowed at full drill sergeant strength.

Spy looked a little stunned. “I beg your pardon?”

Soldier seemed to be winding down from livid to merely extraordinarily irritated. “You think I don’t know a Nazi when I see one? Let’s keep it clean, boys!” He walked up to Medic and grinned. “Good to have you aboard, soldier!”

“Thank... you?” Medic replied, still feeling a bit disoriented.

“That’s the spirit!” Soldier slapped Medic on the arm and marched back off towards the stove while whistling a jaunty tune.

Medic turned to Engineer. “What just happened?”

Engineer only laughed. “Welcome to the team.”

**Author's Note:**

> The only reason I wrote this was to get to Soldier's part. I am awful at brevity.


End file.
